


for the boy who loved thee best

by ramhog



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Asexual Character, Drabble, M/M, Memory Alteration, Pining, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-18
Updated: 2019-07-18
Packaged: 2020-06-30 10:45:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19851532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ramhog/pseuds/ramhog
Summary: It's 1889, London. Crowley hasn't been around. Aziraphale tries dating? He's bad at it.





	for the boy who loved thee best

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this self-indulgently after I watched Bright Young Things and Wilde back to back and became obsessed with the idea of Aziraphale attempting to date back when he was attending the gentlemen's club where he learned to gavotte.
> 
> I've kind of made the Good Omens world I play in a mix between the book and the show- my designs for Aziraphale and Crowley aren't Sheen and Tennant.
> 
> Here's some fanart I did for this fic of Ezra and Aziraphale! https://twitter.com/ramhogalt/status/1155633302973374464

The club on Portland Place became Aziraphale’s only social life. It’s not like he had much of a social life before that (being an immortal, ageless Celestial being makes it hard to feel like you can have connections with humans), but Crowley had been gone for a few years at this point and the angel was beginning to feel quite lonely.

When he and Crowley had first met, they would go decades without crossing each others paths. As cities were established and ‘modern society’ was built around them, the Arrangement brought them into each other’s lives more frequently. It was easy to get used to the only other face you had seen your entire life. Aziraphale assumed (correctly) that Crowley had decided to just take a very long nap, and any day now he’d be back and the two could go on a picnic and he could catch him up on what he had slept through.

A decade was a long time.

Oscar Wilde had been the one to tip off Aziraphale to the place. The poet himself frequented it and knew many of the members intimately. Aziraphale and him had met at one of his gatherings and hit it off. After that tipsy night where the two had kissed in the garden, Wilde suggested Aziraphale tag along with him the next time he visited.

Aziraphale, dense as ever, didn’t catch on to the membership of the club until he had been cornered by a pale, androdgynous young man who tugged at Aziraphale’s cravat and asked if he could taste his lips. Aziraphale agreed.

The club’s clientele was high class, many of them the sons of the super wealthy. Many of the men Aziraphale met were living off family allowances, looking to fill idle time and curious about attraction and romance. There were many men in the club who were married and unsure about themselves, and this was the only outlet they had. It was dangerous to be yourself. Aziraphale knew this all too well, in a way. If he was to pursue the snake he had caught feelings for, it would be treason. The club was the first time he was able to explore that part of himself, to an extent.

And then there was the dancing. The same young man who had so brazenly cornered him, who went by Ezra, was the one to show him. Aziraphale had two left feet at first, but Ezra only laughed and patiently guided the angel with each visit until he was one of the best dancers there.

“Mr. Fell, would you care to accompany me to the parlor?” Ezra had pulled Aziraphale off to the side as he usually did after the gavotte, kissing him quickly.

“Of course,” Aziraphale said dutifully. He did feel guilty. The 24 year old was gorgeous: flawless skin with the brightest chestnut eyes the angel had ever seen, dark curls and small thin fingers that fit perfectly laced together with Aziraphale’s own pudgy ones. He did find Ezra extremely attractive. He even loved him enough to feel bad for his feelings. But he did not love him as he loved another.

Ezra had learned early that sex was extremely off the table. He had pulled Aziraphale into one of the bedrooms in the club and stripped his own shirt off, his thin wispy chest exposed. Aziraphale had just set his hands on his shoulders with a slightly pained look, as if he was embarrassed for him, and told him it was out of the question. If Ezra desired that type of relationship, there were other men in the club. Ezra had conceded and did not pry. He rather enjoyed being Aziraphale’s arm candy, dragging him around to his friends at the club and reveling in his air of mystery. Plus, he was a good kisser.

He had also learned very quickly about Aziraphale’s sweet tooth, and sought out the best bakeries in London to bring him pastries and cakes when they planned to meet. They only ever met at the club. There was no safe way for them to be themselves in public, and Aziraphale was not about to bring Ezra into his bookshop.

The two of them stepped into the parlor. Aziraphale exchanged nods with a few of the other men who were smoking thin cigarettes, their own partners giving them back rubs or stroking their shirts. By this point, Aziraphale had flings with quite a few of the patrons. It was expected here. Ezra was his main squeeze, but since he had assured him that he was more than allowed to date the others as he pleased, it had lead to an open relationship status the two of them were more than content with.

Of course, Aziraphale very quickly had built up a reputation for himself.

Ezra poured his partner some tea, black. “Any word yet from your Crowley?”

Aziraphale sighed, long and dramatically. A few of the men nearby who overheard rolled their eyes to themselves. The ones Aziraphale had blessed with his lips had also had the privilege of listening to the undercover angel talk at length about a probably invented suitor he couldn’t pursue due to the nature of their jobs. They felt for him, they really did, but truly, the dark, mysterious man is all he would talk about. It had reached a point where nobody believed he existed. Even Ezra doubted his existence, and asked after him from time to time just to engage Aziraphale.

“Fortunately for you, dear, no.” He took a long drink from his tea and Ezra refilled his cup. “Seems I will be darkening your door for some time to come.”

Ezra let an easy smile play on his thin, red lips and kissed Aziraphale’s forehead. “If he does ever turn up again, I would be interested to meet him,” he tried, fixing his own tea with four teaspoons of sugar. “See for myself if he’s truly competition.”

Aziraphale’s face had flushed. “No.” Ezra looked up at him with a frown. “Er, I mean, I’m afraid he… Wouldn’t fit in a place like this.”

“We can behave ourselves for one party,” Ezra laughed. His eyes glinted mischievously. “He might be more willing to pursue you if he sees you’re already taken.”

Aziraphale seriously considered it for a moment. He knew Crowley had dated before, at least once, some gladiator all the way back in Rome. Maybe this place could help Crowley in the same way it had helped him…? He shook the thought out. What was he THINKING? Of course his feelings were one-sided, and anyways, Crowley is, was, and always will be a demon. No matter what his soul said, they couldn’t be together. That’s the whole point of him joining the club after all, right?

He looked across at the wisp of a man sitting across from him, beautiful and delicate, he felt the distance of all the thousands of years he had walked the earth. And here was this human who looked at him as if he was the most important being in the world.

“Has anyone told you that you look like an angel?” Ezra whispered, reaching across the table and tucking one of Aziraphale’s black, tight curls behind his ear.

Aziraphale wished Crowley would wake up.

* * *

The club was quiet today. Ezra sat alone in the parlor, smoking while reading the paper. In truth, he wasn’t reading it as much as glancing down at it and jerking his head up to look at the doorway whenever someone passed by or poked their head in.

It had been some months since the last time Mr. Fell had visited the club. Ezra continued to show up whenever he could spare the time to, hopeful that he was just on a trip and would return any day. The other members seemed to have forgotten about his existence fairly quickly.

But how could Ezra forget? After all the long afternoons they had spent in each other’s company, memories of the man was firmly lodged in his head. He had given in to the fact that he was lovesick, and despite being mature enough by this point to have his pick of the new arrivals for himself, he couldn’t help but miss hanging on Azi’s arm.

He put out his cigarette and folded the paper, leaving it behind on his seat. Being in the club wasn’t helping his focus. A walk would help. He gathered his hat and stepped out to the front stoop of the building. It was turning out to be a lovely spring so far. He made his way to the closest bit of nature he could find. The flowers were starting to bloom, the birds were out, and young couples were enjoying cool walks through the park-

Ezra couldn’t help but stop abruptly. His breath caught in his throat. When he regained composure, he stepped awkwardly to a bench and sat, pretending as if his goal was to enjoy the view of the river instead of recovering from seeing an ex. He peeked a glance over towards the bridge.

It was A. Z. Fell himself, dressed in his usual overcoat and black, tight curls rustling in the breeze. Next to him was a gentleman Ezra had never seen before: tall, slender, pointy, flaming red hair, wearing dark sunglasses. He was smiling quietly at Azi as the other talked his ear off in an animated fashion.

Ezra couldn’t help but let his jaw drop and he looked back at the lake abruptly. Was this the Crowley that Azi never shut up about? It must be. That explained everything. His dark and mysterious boyfriend had showed up again and he no longer had a use for the club. 

Or Ezra.

The young man, now looking much older, closed his eyes, feeling the breeze against his skin. He inhaled deeply, then exhaled while opening his eyes slowly, letting his view rest easy on the ducks in the river. He tilted his head back at where his angel-like acquaintance was standing.

He had never seen that beautiful face so happy.

“Then it’s decided,” he told one of the ducks near him that was wandering down to the water. “I’m happy that he’s happy.” He couldn’t keep a few stray tears from falling onto his lap.

He was so absorbed into his conversation with the duck that he didn’t notice a pale blue gaze hit him from across the grass, and he never would. Aziraphale made sure Ezra never thought of him again.

Best to carry on.


End file.
